---
The sky was crimson red.
Black flames flew to the heavens, a contrast to the reddish sky, dancing like cursed stars across the ruined battlefield. The stench of burning flesh, shattered steel, and demon blood thickened the air until it was hard to breathe.
Yet Kael Draven stood tall—bare-chested, charred armor hanging from one shoulder his dark hair soaked in sweat and blood. The crimson sash around his waist was the only thing left untouched, glowing faintly with magic. In his right hand, a black-bladed sword pulsed with heat, whispering curses in a long-dead tongue.
At his feet lay the Demon Lord Vaerok—his skull split open, molten eyes still glowing faintly as if even in death, his hatred refused to die.
> "It's done," Kael muttered.
Ashura, his spirit beast, perched on his shoulder in its fox-dragon form—sleek, flaming, eyes like molten gold.
> "You didn't have to go that hard." Ashura said why peeking at the battlefield
"I always go that hard," Kael smirked.
Thunder cracked as the skies opened, and golden sunlight bathed the scorched plains.
A slow clap echoed behind him.
Kael turned as a wave of soldiers in black and red armor dropped to their knees. The Obsidian Legion, 10,000 strong. Survivors of a three-month-long war. Most stared in awe. Some in fear. Others… in envy.
From the front, a tall man with long silver hair stepped forward, his royal robes flowing behind him like shadowy water. His face was sharp—like a blade carved from ice.
Prince Rael Draven.
Kael's older brother.
The heir.
The "noble" one.
> "Brother…" Rael spoke, voice echoing with command.
"You've done what even the gods failed to do. Demon Lord Vaerok is slain. The world owes you everything."
Kael didn't bow. He didn't smile.
He just sheathed his blade, slowly, letting the sound of metal sliding into the scabbard silence the murmurs.
> "You can repay me by shutting up for once."....
Some soldiers gasped. A few snorted. Even Ashura tilted its flaming head in approval.
Rael's eye twitched. Just for a second.
Kael and Rael never met eye to eye since they were teenagers....
"Well i can't now can i" Rael said with a forced smile.
still pristine in his ceremonial armor, strides through the aftermath with a carefully curated frown. His white cloak isn't even stained. He steps past corpses like they're dust.
He raises his hand to address the troops.
"Soldiers of Aetherion," he began, voice echoing with polished authority. "Today, we—"
Kael, still standing on the Demon Lord's corpse, eyes him sideways.
"Shut up, Rael."
Silence.
Even the wind dares not blow.
Rael's jaw twitches.
"Excuse me?"
Kael hops down from the corpse, each step leaving a burning print in the dirt. His voice is hoarse but sharp.
"Don't act like you led this. You stood behind a wall while I bled out half my soul to kill that thing."
"I'm not one of your simpering councilmen."
The soldiers stir. Some glance at each other. A few nod silently.
Rael's voice tightens.
"This is neither the time nor the place—"
Kael's Soulfire flickers across his right arm. His glare could set the air on fire.
"Then make it the time. Make it the place. Or stand there and choke on your lies like you always do."
Tension so thick You could slice it with a sword.
But Rael just straightens his back, suppressing the rage bubbling behind his princely mask. He gives a tight, brittle smile.
"You're tired. I'll forgive that outburst."
Kael turns away.
"Don't. I meant every word."
And with that, the hero of the war walked off—wounded, burned, but unbent. And Rael? He stared after him, eyes cold… calculating.
That was the day Rael Draven decided his brother was no longer just a weapon. He was a threat.
---
–– A Week Later ––
The Capital of Aetherion was drunk on celebration.
Taverns overflowed. Girls threw petals and undergarments at parades. Bards sang songs about "Kael the Black Flame," and little kids swung sticks pretending to be him.
He hated it.
Inside the palace, he sat in silence as servants dressed him for the coronation—a crimson mantle woven with fire-thread, leather greaves, arm bracers etched with golden sigils. His black hair was tied back, revealing the deep scar across his collarbone—earned during his fight with the 3rd demon general.
> "This doesn't feel right."
"Why crown a warrior when the war's not over?" he said to Ashura
Ashura, curled around his neck like a burning scarf, flicked her tail.
"You just don't like attention."
"No," Kael replied.
"I don't like liars pretending I'm their hero."
He stared at himself in the mirror.
And deep inside… something pulled.
A cold, slithering feeling in his gut.
> Something's off.
---
That Night — The Private Feast, Only a dozen were invited.
All "trusted" generals, nobles, and Rael himself.
The table was long, gilded, and full of rare dishes—demon hearts grilled in bloodwine, dragon meat skewers, goldleaf pastries. But Kael barely touched any of it.
He just watched.
One of the nobles—a woman named Lady Virell—leaned toward him, cleavage on full display, voice sweet.
"You've become quite the man, Lord Kael. Tell me… do your flames ever get lonely at night?"
> –
"Not as lonely as your bedchamber, clearly."
She stepped back, face beet red from embarrassment and little bit of anger" am sorry, excuse me"as she left the hall in a hurry.
Ashura cackled inside his mind. Kael sipped his drink. Politely.
Rael raised his goblet.
"To the Crimson Crown," he said. "To Kael—the Flame that Saved Us All."
The others echoed the toast.
Kael held his cup up, he took a sip out of the wine… then paused.
He looked at the liquid inside. It shimmered unnaturally.
Too thick.
Too red.
Too… wrong.
Ashura twitched.
> "Kael—"
It was too late.
The door of the hall was slammed shut.
The wine in his hand exploded with black light.
Kael shot up—already reaching for his blade—but his body froze.
Like his limbs were made of lead.
He turned his head painfully toward Rael.
> "You…"
Rael's smile was serene. Almost gentle.
> "I warned you, brother. Not every flame is meant to burn forever."
Ashura surged forward, her flames roaring with murderous intent— But before she could leap into combat, five cloaked mages stepped into formation, their hands glowing with crimson glyphs.
Chanting in unison, they cast a forbidden rite—a spirit-sealing circle that erupted beneath her.
The sigils ignited.
Ashura's body convulsed as her flames were wrenched apart, each ember pulled into the center of the seal.
"Kael—!" she screamed, voice warping into static, "They're—using me—!"
He tried to reach her.
Too late.
With a final flicker of golden fire, her form collapsed into smoke, sucked inward until only a single burning wisp remained— small, unstable… and silent.
Kael fell to his knees as the seal dimmed, Ashura's presence vanished. It was as if someone had ripped a piece of his soul out and sealed it behind glass.
Kael screamed—his own soul ripping.
"You're sealing me? You BASTARD—"
"You're too dangerous," Rael said calmly.
"The people love you more than the crown. That makes you a threat."
"I bled for them." Kael said his eyes bloodshot
"And they'll never know." Rael said with a smirk playing on his lips.
Kael's vision blurred. Blood dripped from his nose. His flames flickered weakly.
"You… will regret this..." he said weakly, overwhelmed with weakness.
Rael crouched next to him, hand on Kael's shoulder like a father consoling a child.
"By morning, you'll be gone. A traitor. Lost. Forgotten."
"And when the world burns again… you won't be there to save it."
He stood.
Turned.
And left.
And the room faded to black.
---
––– Somewhere Unknown –––
Kael woke up gasping, chained to a stone wall.
His arms—bound in cursed iron.
His chest—burned with a sealing glyph.
Ashura—gone, the thought of that pained him dearly.
Only silence surrounded him.
> –
So this is how it ends.
He lowered his head, breathing ragged.
From hero... to nothing.
From fire... to ash.
A voice echoed from the darkness.
"Still alive?"
"Pity."
A woman stepped into the dim light. She wore black leather, eyes glowing purple, skin like dusk. Her smile was sharp and cold.
"Welcome to the soul prison"
"No one gets out."
Kael didn't respond.
He just stared at the wall, breathing slowly.
They think they killed me.
They think I'll rot.
–
Let them think.
Because when I return...
…I'll burn everything they built. He thought silently to himself while staring at the woman